


A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by FanaticShipper07, Mentally_Unstable



Series: Not-So-Divine Intervention [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Constantine (TV), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Bisexual John Constantine, Blood, ColdBlazer, Corpses, Enemies to Friends, Gay Leonard Snart, Ghosts are dicks, Gods are also dicks, John Constantine has feelings, John is painfully bisexual, Len has 0 fucks to give, Len is an adrenaline junkie, Len literally does nothing but exist, Licking, M/M, Magic is what it is bc John said so, Mick wants John to burn him (in the kinky way or not, Minor Gun Violence, Minor Violence, Nicotine doesn’t solve every problem but john still tries, No offense to actual egyptian mythology, Overuse of pet names, Self-Inflicted Scars, Sheep are strangers, Thief Leonard Snart, shoulder kink, tongue, we dunno)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanaticShipper07/pseuds/FanaticShipper07, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mentally_Unstable/pseuds/Mentally_Unstable
Summary: Leonard Snart was a master thief despite the hardships of having the Flash on him at every corner. After scoring an artifact that seemed completely harmless at the time, he eventually found it to be more than he expected.Or, Leonard Snart stole a magical artifact and John Constantine is not having it.
Relationships: John Constantine/Leonard Snart
Series: Not-So-Divine Intervention [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906723
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Leonard polished off his bar counter with a long sigh flowing from his lips. He had finished an easy mission not too long ago - museums were _ always  _ easy - and even though the Flash had shown up, the speedster was easily frozen where he stood. The kid was too impulsive for his own good and even though his presence made Leonard scratch out  _ eight  _ of his nineteen plans, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting an Egyptian mask among other priceless artifacts from the museum.

It was like he always said: you don’t break into a candy store to only steal  _ one  _ gumball.

His crew was making almost _too_ much noise in the corner of the room, all of them playing the game that he was banned from for ‘beating all of them and taking all their money’ too many times to count. The sound wasn’t quite enough to hide the bar door slowly opening with an unfamiliar man walking through it. The blond ignored the commotion, settling down at a bar stool with only a sideways glance in their direction.

“Whiskey, love,” he ordered warmly, further loosening his already skewed tie.

Raising an eyebrow at the request before otherwise pouring alcohol into a small glass, Leonard placed it in front of the man as he asked casually, “I haven’t seen you here before, what’s your name?”

The man smirked, running his finger along the rim of the glass, “Feel free to call me  _ trouble.” _

“Well, we can’t have  _ that  _ now,  _ can we?”  _ he drawled out, resting his palms on top of the counter to lean against them, eyes flickering over toward the now-quieter group in the corner, “What kind of trouble are you trying to cause?”

“Whatever kind you fancy most,” the other replied easily before downing the glass in one. “Unfortunately, I’m here on business.”

Watching the glass closely, he decided to fill it for the other, already having a feeling the stranger would ask for another anyway. “What do you want with me, then? I’m sure that’s what you’re here for.”

“Not you, mate. Just a little information,” the man answered, taking a swig of the new drink.

“I’m afraid I don’t have too much information on  _ anything,  _ really. I’m a little out of the loop these days,” he lied without an ounce of hesitation, grabbing the abandoned rag on top of the counter to instead polish an already-clean glass.

The stranger rested his cheek against his palm, tapping his other hand’s fingers against the surface of the bar, “I haven’t even asked the question yet, love. Little too soon to tell.”

“Then why don’t you  _ ask  _ a question, kid?” Leonard pressed, seeming as if he were focusing more so on the smudge on the glass than on the man himself.

“I heard something about an Egyptian artifact going missing recently…” the man began, voice toned down to a hush, “Is that true?”

“I believe it was on the news a few days ago, yes. I’m sure that if you’re investigating the topic, the police would have more information. Even the  _ news  _ has the basic information about that, though I doubt you would have looked at that since you’re not from around here,” he answered after a small pause so that the other would think him genuine, not looking up from the glass until the end and pointedly staring into the man’s eyes.

The stranger held the eye-contact with no sign of discomfort, “Guilty as charged. But it’s merely curiosity, nothing to worry the police about.”

A small hum, “Why get curious about yet another item from this city disappearing? Are you another Flash-fanatic?”

The man waved his hand dismissively, “Never been a fan of costumes, myself.”

Leonard broke out a small glass for himself, filling it with whatever liquid his hand made contact with first, “That makes two of us, but that doesn’t answer my other question.”

The stranger gave a quiet laugh, “Observant. I’m new in town.” He shrugged, continuing, “Any gossip is interesting.”

“Why would you need gossip on a city you’ve never  _ been to?”  _ he pressed, watching the liquid spin around in his glass as he swirled the object in his fingers.

A raised eyebrow, the stranger pausing before questioning, “And what’s it to  _ you,  _ mate?”

“Nothing interesting happens here. You must allow  _ me  _ to be curious as well,” the villain answered simply, it not being a complete lie. “Besides, you said your name was ‘trouble’ since the very  _ beginning.  _ I believe I  _ should  _ be asking these questions.”

“Fair enough,” the man offered a wink, “false advertising never was my style.”

“Neither is answering my questions, apparently,” Leonard pointed out without missing a beat, finally taking a sip from his own glass.

“But what’s a first impression without a little mystery?”

“A dull one, I suppose, though it’s only a matter of time before it’s solved, isn’t it?” he said, eyes catching sight of Mick beginning to pull out a lighter once he had lost another hand. He sighed, deciding to ignore the other despite the numerous consequences that could provide later.

“Let’s end the game, shall we? The name’s John Constantine,” the man replied, warmth fleeing his voice as he pulled a bent business card from his trench coat’s pocket and slid it to the other. “You have something that I need and I’m not leaving without it.”

Inspecting the card with a slight smirk of his own, he placed the card into his own pocket, ignoring the table’s laughs and small protests at his words as he spoke drily, “Although Mick  _ looks  _ and  _ acts  _ like a demon, I can assure you that he is  _ not.” _

Constantine pressed his palm against the bar, drink forgotten, “This isn’t a  _ joke, _ mate. There are spirits dancing all around your bar right now. Unhappy little buggers, too.”

“That seems logical since there are more  _ dead  _ people than  _ living  _ people on this damn planet,” he reasoned, not seeming at all bothered by the idea.

“Egyptian echoes don’t hang around bloody  _ bars,”  _ Constantine shot back, narrowing his eyes at the space next to the other, possibly staring one of the apparitions down - if he was to be believed.

A small shrug, dismissing, “I can’t tell them where they could lounge and where they can’t. It’s not like I mind.”

“Well  _ I  _ bloody do. Give me the artifact and put their souls back to rest,” the blond tried again, eyes focused back on the villain.

“It disappoints me to say that I  _ have  _ heard that excuse before, and that it won’t  _ work.” _

Constantine sighed, the expression lending itself to exasperation rather than disappointment, “I’m not looking to  _ sell  _ the bleeding thing. If you don’t return the mask, people  _ will _ get hurt.”

“Does it  _ seem  _ like I’m the type to care about that sort of thing? Besides, either way it is out of my  _ hands,”  _ Leonard defended lightly, walking around from behind the counter.

“Innocent lives for a bloody sum of money?” The blond shook his head, letting out a sigh and muttering something beneath his breath.

“What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood behind John’s chair.

The blond unhurriedly finished his glass, checked out of the conversation, “Whatever the hell you want it to.”

The villain rolled his eyes harshly, feet already moving to the opposite side of the bar, “If you believe that I don’t fucking  _ care  _ about that sort of thing, then I suppose you must be wasting your time trying to take it  _ out of here.” _

“Maybe I am,” the exorcist agreed, “But maybe I’m wrong about that. Feel free to sway that one way or the other.”

“If I  _ were  _ to give it to you, what the hell would I get out of it?” he asked, opening a drawer after typing in a quick code, his usual gun coming to light, “Or, better yet, what’s stopping me from freezing you where you stand?”

Constantine merely raised an eyebrow before shrugging, “That wouldn’t do anything for you, love. But I would leave, for one.”

Leonard watched him skeptically, “You would  _ leave,  _ and then what? Come back the next day with some  _ friends?” _

“If you give me the bloody mask, you’ll never see me again. Fair trade?”

“Not  _ really.  _ It’s not as if your constant presence would be a thorn in my side,” the villain responded, turning a knob upon his gun to a lower setting, “Not much of a  _ punishment.” _

“Believe me, mate. You’ll regret even knowing me  _ this  _ long,” the blond promised flatly, eyes glancing between Leonard and the rest of the area behind the bar.

“If all you could do is  _ insult me,  _ it wouldn’t be the  _ worst  _ thing that has happened to me.”

Constantine narrowed his eyes, speaking lowly, “When a demon comes knocking on your door, you’ll think differently. Now hand over the artifact, already.”

_ “No. _ I don’t think you understand how  _ businesses  _ are  _ run, _ kid. I’ve seen my fair share of  _ demons  _ in my time.”

The blond let out a harsh breath, tugging at a strand of his hair, “You don’t understand the bleeding upset in the cosmic balance. Those spirit pals of yours? They’re  _ screaming, _ louder than any wandering soul has any right to be.”

_ “Not. My. Problem,”  _ he stated, obvious pauses between the words as his finger rested on the trigger.

“It  _ will  _ be your bloody problem when the echoes seek retribution.” Constantine readjusted his tie, letting out a slow breath, “The rising darkness gives wanderers all sorts of powers they shouldn’t have. Wouldn’t take the chance, if I were you.” He shrugged, voice taking on a sardonic edge, “But what would I know?”

“Why don’t you go to the one it’ll be  _ sent to? They’re  _ the one buying it, so  _ they’re  _ the one who should care about what will be haunting their ass, not  _ me.” _

The exorcist began fishing around in one of his pockets, “You pick it up, you put it back. Think the spirits would make an exception for me, but not the poor sod who paid for the bloody thing.” Pulling a cigarette from his jacket, he placed it between his lips, “So the haunting is all yours, mate.”

“Why the hell would they make an exception for  _ you?”  _ a small pause, “And besides, how would you get into a high-tech building undetected  _ anyway?” _

An eye roll, “You’re the only one who can rob a place? Leave the semantics to a professional, love. You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

“I’ll  _ embarrass  _ myself?” he repeated snarkily, pointing his gun toward the floor for the time being, “Try not to get caught by the fastest man on  _ earth  _ once he gets there, and let’s see who gets fucking  _ embarrassed.” _

Constantine sighed, setting the tip of his finger ablaze to light his cigarette, taking a drag, “If you give me the artifact, you’ll see for yourself.”

Leonard ignored the small gasp from an  _ easily  _ guessed person, rolling his eyes at the noise anyway, “Fire wouldn’t  _ help you.  _ If you don’t have anything that would make his molecules slow down to a frequency where you could see the man in the  _ suit,  _ then you might as well stop trying, kid.”

“A magician never reveals all of his secrets, does he?”

“Then sorry, kid, I’m not giving it to you. I don’t need another pain in my ass trying to show me up for no reason,” the villain huffed out, resting his gun on his shoulder, “You should  _ leave.” _

The blond stood leisurely, “Already on my way, mate. Just give me a call when you start to hear the screaming too, yeah?”

“Thanks for the  _ sentiment,  _ but I  _ won’t.” _

Constantine took another inhale of his cigarette, walking back toward the door, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Not even bothering to give the other a response, Leonard simply poured himself another glass of whiskey, knowing he truly needed one after that  _ headache  _ of a conversation.

* * *

Trouble found Constantine like flies found a rotting corpse. It was an inevitability and nobody was surprised, especially not the man himself. When Constantine’s insides were picked clean, those around him suffered, dealing with consequences that belonged to him. But that bloody screaming…

Gaz, the blasted echo, had shown up at his temporary place in town, demanding he fix some ghostly calamity, as if he himself had caused it. He had considered that notion for a moment, but figured every upset in the cosmic balance could be traced back to him eventually, so didn’t bother. Gaz always blamed him, but never more than Constantine already did, so he never held it against the bloke. Used to be a fine fellow and good friend; now he was nothing more than an echo using his ex-friend’s voice as a disguise.

_ ‘They’re screaming, John. You remember Newcastle.” _

And hadn’t that been the bloody  _ cherry on top?  _ Newcastle, the single instance that had led to the total ruination of five lives, damning his own soul to hell with the added price of a little girl. Gaz couldn’t go a damn  _ minute  _ without reminding Constantine of what a bloody  _ cock-up  _ that had been, of how responsible he was for what happened…

_ ‘Get some spiritual ear-plugs, mate, ‘cause it isn’t my issue,’  _ he had snarked back, continuing to go about his day with the blue-tinged spirit following behind unhappily.

_ ‘John, people are going to get hurt. You know the-” _

_ “Yes, the bloody rising darkness, again. Why should I care if people get hurt?”  _ he had demanded, cutting Gaz off and earning stares since he had stopped in the middle of the street. The echo had watched him critically as he made his way to an abandoned alleyway, lighting up a smoke.

Truth be told, he wasn’t proud of the things he had said to Gaz, both in life and that particular conversation. Hangover plus early morning ghost awakening never equalled anything in Constantine’s favour from his experience.

Running a shaking hand through his already-messy hair, he stood up from the hotel bed, taking stock of his outfit.  _ Shirt?  _ Wrinkled but still on.  _ Coat?  _ On the chair.  _ Tie? _ He looked around, narrowing his eyes before catching sight of it lying on the bedside table.  _ Must have thought about that for a tick. _ He pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his jacket, feeling ten times calmer simply with the comforting weight of his lighter in his hand and the promise of nicotine between his lips. The smoke curled into loops as it disappeared, Constantine slowing his quick heart rate with each drag.

He was really back to square one with the spiritual mess that the bartender had cooked up. Nice shoulders didn’t set the cosmic scales back into alignment, but they certainly helped Constantine keep his mind occupied, letting those pesky thoughts of times past slip to the back of his head - hopefully to never be seen again. But of course, they hadn’t stayed away for long and he had only gotten to sleep once he had drunk himself right into incoherence.

The ringing in his ears from the night prior hadn’t fully abated, the headache sitting between his eyes evidence enough. Why did restless apparitions insist on  _ screaming?  _ He was bloody unhappy too, but you didn’t hear  _ him _ screaming his damn head off about it. By all rights, he shouldn’t have even been able to see the Egyptian echoes, let alone hear them; but the rising darkness had turned areas of low spiritual activity into thin places - scraping away at the divide between the living and non-living worlds until every pissed off spirit gave Constantine an earful.

He startled at the sudden ringtone filling the dead air of the hotel room, cheap since no fancy blokes were willing to have their credit nicked the night before. Taking a moment to consider who might be calling, and more importantly how pissed at him that person might be, he grabbed the phone from his coat pocket, answering.

“Hello? If you’re calling to complain, I won’t apologise.”

_ “You never paid for that  _ drink,” the person started, a small ruckus able to be heard on his side.

Constantine smirked, sitting back down on the bed covers, “A right shame, innit? Would have paid and everything if you hadn’t chased me out.”

_ “Well, I suppose you can pay once I’m back in your room.” _

The blond raised an eyebrow, taking a drag of his cigarette, “Back? We could have had some fun if you told me you’d be coming.”

_ “What’s the surprise in that?” _

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, “Are you poppin’ by for a visit then?”

_ “I’d like my  _ money,  _ yes.” _

“Then I guess you’ll have to catch me, won’t you?”

There was a small beep from the lock on the door before the man from the other night came in, hanging up the phone pointedly, “Consider yourself  _ caught,  _ kid.”

Constantine set his phone down on the bedspread, “Guess we don’t really need  _ that _ anymore, now do we?”

“I suppose not,” the thief pocketed his own phone and hotel key, making his way further inside as he pushed the door closed with his foot, “You owe me five dollars for your drinks the other night.”

Edging toward the window, Constantine shrugged, “Is that worth all the trouble?”

“Yes, it  _ definitely  _ is,” the male confirmed, sitting down on a random chair in the room, glancing over toward the window with an obvious huff, “I wouldn’t try the window, Mick’s out there waiting for you if you try to leave.”

A thoughtful hum, “Air vent?”

“My sister’s in there, and she is  _ rather  _ trigger happy with her gold-gun.”

Constantine held up his hands in surrender, “I’m a rat in a trap, then?”

“Now, the only question is,” he started, placing his elbows on his knees as he leant forward, “are you going to take a bite from the  _ cheese?” _

“Depends on what the cheese  _ is, _ mate,” the blond replied, trying his luck at flirtation, though he knew the second go was always less successful.

“What do you  _ think  _ it is? You seem rather  _ smart.” _

Constantine shrugged, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “Maybe you are, love.”

“I appreciate that you want a  _ piece  _ of me, but that’s not  _ quite  _ it,” the male denied, crossing his arms over his chest after a few moments.

The blond rolled his eyes, ignoring the comment in favour of objectivity, “Let’s cut to the chase. I figure this isn’t really about five dollars, is it?”

“Give me five bucks and maybe you’ll find  _ out.” _

“I don’t think so,” Constantine huffed, slipping a hand into his empty pocket, “I’m not giving you  _ anything, _ mate.”

“Then I suppose you won’t be getting any information out of me, then,” the other male finished, leaning back into the seat as he looked over the room for anything interesting.

“Well, if that’s all, how about you go on your merry way? The screaming makes my ears ring,” the exorcist commented flatly, glaring at the wandering spirits present in the room. They seemed to dislike the attention, if the uptick in volume was anything to go by. He averted his eyes from their willowy forms, resisting a wince at the stabbing near his temples.

A small hum, “And should I tell the people at the desk that you rented out this room with a stolen card when I’m at it as well?”

Constantine raised an eyebrow, disregarding the spike of pain the action brought, “What? I can’t afford a hotel room, now?”

_ “No,  _ it’s just that your job profession likely doesn’t pay anything at  _ all,  _ and you said that you were ‘new in town’, so you probably didn’t have much money to  _ begin with.” _

“Maybe I’ve been saving up,” the blond shrugged, filling the room with more smoke, the grey wisps competing with the unwanted visitors, “Impossible to tell, really.”

“Because you used a fake name to get this room and it was likely under the name of the man you stole the  _ card from, John.” _

Constantine sighed, dropping the topic altogether, “And what would I  _ get _ for a five, love?”

“I would give you the name of the person who put me  _ up  _ to this task, and I  _ might  _ consider giving you the mask that you want oh-so  _ bad.” _

“That’s an offer,” the demonologist replied, taking a few pacing steps. “Call off your dogs and I accept.”

There was a tongue click, the thief simply waving his hand as if that would make them  _ leave  _ as there was a loud  _ ‘fucking goddamnit’  _ outside, the man standing up with an outstretched hand, “They’re  _ gone,  _ pay me.”

Cigarette in his mouth, Constantine complained, “Yeah, yeah, give it a minute will you?”

“Fine, fine, take your  _ time.” _

The blond grinned, moving to the discarded coat to fish for his battered wallet, pulling out a five easily, “Really worth the trouble?”

“If I could make your life any harder than it already is, it really  _ is  _ worth the trouble,” the other stated with a shrug, inspecting the money closely before placing it into his pocket.

“Thought I would get a little fun out of this, so not much of a hassle for me, mate.”

_ “Darn,  _ my plans have been  _ thwarted,”  _ the man replied sarcastically, obviously not caring either way as he continued, “Do you know anybody who goes by the name of Ammit?”

Constantine sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Unfortunately yes.” The blond began pacing again, looking at the remaining echoes with increased exasperation, “You picked the bloody wrong job.”

“That’s  _ every  _ job, and typically they are the most  _ interesting  _ ones.”

The exorcist shook his head, quickly piecing a human-friendly explanation together, “That’s not what I mean. Ammit is known as the ‘Devourer of the Dead.’ An ancient Egyptian goddess often compared to a  _ demon.” _

“Why would she possibly want the mask, then?”

“She’s always been a force of order, one way or another… I bet she thought of the museum as a form of…  _ thievery?  _ Ironic, of course, but deities can’t make use of the power stored within objects when the items are sealed away in glass boxes,” Constantine rambled more quietly, more so to himself than to the other, talking through the information he already knew.

“It’s doubtful that she would want me to fucking steal a mask when she believes that a museum is a form of thievery  _ anyway,”  _ the stranger said with a roll to his eyes.

“That’s not it, mate. She’s the one that sends souls to eternal damnation in Egyptian mythos. The mask is a representation of Anubis, but I imagine she wants to grab power where she can find it. With the rising bloody  _ darkness _ , she decided to take the chance to steal it. Blasted deities,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What would happen if she  _ did  _ get her hands on it?”

_ “Now _ you want bloody answers?” Constantine sighed, answering more calmly, “A year ago, I could have answered that easily. But everything’s changing…”

“Here, let me  _ guess,”  _ the other held his hand up as if to pause him, “The  _ ‘rising darkness’  _ is changing all this  _ shit?” _

The blond rolled his eyes at the other’s tone, “Precisely. I doubt Ammit expected those pesky buggers to start screaming, though.” He paused, adding, “Or to grab  _ my _ attention.”

“Why’d she ask  _ me  _ to get it for her rather than spending no money at  _ all  _ and steal it  _ herself?” _

“Stealing it herself doesn’t match her own shade of  _ justice.” _ Constantine focused on the other again, “You won’t be getting out of that without a scratch either, mate.”

“That’s the usual for me. What do we have to do, then?” the stranger asked, pulling out his phone from his pocket.

The magic-user gave the villain a flat look, “You’re not going to call me crazy? Maybe shoot me?” The memory of the bartender’s gun was fresh enough to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, unsettling in a way nicotine never was.

“I’ve dealt with  _ crazier,”  _ the thief dismissed with a small shrug, tugging at his shirt sleeves.

Another eye roll, “Highly doubt that.” Taking a drag from his cigarette the blond considered, “If the goddess herself wanted the mask, putting the artifact back might not put the echoes back where they belong… Plus the bloody deity business.”

“Then what would you  _ suggest,  _ ‘Master of the Dark Arts?’”

Constantine winced at the title, muttering to himself,  _ “Meant to get those reprinted…” _ Shaking his head to refocus, he stated seriously, “Ammit can’t have the artifact. Under any circumstances.”

“Keeping shit away from people  _ is  _ one of my  _ many  _ specialties,” the villain commented cooly, clicking at his phone with ease.

“I believe there’s a ritual to expel the spirits… I’ll have to check on that one,” the demonologist commented, glancing at the small stack of books he had on hand, wondering if he had managed to grab the correct tome for once.

“What would need to be done in the time being, then?”

The exorcist tilted his head back and forth, obviously debating, “For you, I would just say, keep the mask itself in one place. Moving it around too much will only piss off your spirits friends more.”

“Easy enough. It’s already headed back to my other safehouse, anyway,” the male stated, already moving toward the window so that he could look out of it.

Constantine let out a breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he muttered, “Gaz better shut the bloody hell up about this.” Moving to ensure his back was away from the other, the exorcist replied, “Good. The ritual  _ will _ require the artifact itself so… I’ll need that location, if you’d be so inclined.”

“I could shoot it over to you as long as you make sure it doesn’t get  _ out.” _

“What use would I have for leaking that? I’m ‘new in town’ and don’t plan to stick around.”

A small shrug, the other already punching in some numbers, “Lots of people would pay lots of money for it.”

Constantine smirked, lowering his tone, “Exorcism  _ pays,  _ love. The credit card business is just easier.”

“Stealing  _ is  _ rather easy if you know what you have to do,” the villain confirmed with a nod, clicking send on his phone before listening for the other’s phone to ding.

The blond sent a quick glance to the phone that had been abandoned on the bed, not bothering to look at the message itself, “I’ll work on the  _ supernatural _ aspects.  _ Don’t _ do something to make the situation any worse. If that’s all…?”

“That’s all I have. I need to get going to make sure Mick didn’t start any other fires, anyway,” there was a loud, tired huff, the male already walking to the door.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, love,” Constantine commented, ignoring the other’s departure otherwise in favour of relighting his cigarette.

* * *

Leonard wasn’t stupid; he certainly knew what a threat was when he saw it, though this one was much more peculiar than his usual ones. It didn’t scare him whatsoever, sure, but it did require some form of caution and a special way to go about things. He recognized the symbols upon the wall, although he couldn’t  _ read it  _ and didn’t want to bother looking it up. Figuring that this may be a situation where he should get more information to go about things, he finally decided to call the dreaded number with a sigh.

_ “Can it wait?”  _ the other’s voice answered after a few rings, sounding out-of-breath.

“It’s  _ great  _ to talk to you, too. How have  _ you been?”  _ he replied back as snarky as always, staring at the wall as he crossed his arm underneath his other one.

_ “Bloody fantastic. What’s so important, mate?” _

He let out a heavy sigh into the phone, stepping closer to the wall, saying in a somewhat joking manner, “Something strange has happened, but if you’re too  _ busy…” _

_ “What happened?”  _ the exorcist asked immediately, evidently more interested in the new topic of conversation.

“There is some writing on the wall and Mick has already said it wasn’t  _ him,  _ so I believe it’s important to ask you if the mask could have been the cause of it,” Leonard said drily, unsure if he was  _ supposed  _ to make a bigger deal about this new course of events.

There was a brief silence on the other side before an audible sigh,  _ “How did you manage to piss off the spirits already?” _

“I’ve done nothing to the mask this whole time, mind you. I only came in to check up on it every so often to make sure all was well, and this time it  _ wasn’t.” _

_ “How is it written? Blood, paint, carving..?” _ the demonologist asked instead.

He looked at the wall closer, not touching the wall in case that was the  _ wrong  _ thing to do as he noticed it was definitely going inward toward the wall, “It looks as if somebody was scratching at the wall, I suppose.”

The exorcist hummed,  _ “Might need a purification to be safe, but that shouldn’t be too harmful.” _

“I don’t care either way, it just seemed as if you would like to be updated about these sort of occurrences for the time being.”

_ “I’ll drop by for a quick spell, then.” _

“Take as much time as you need, we could certainly hold our own here either way,” he dismissed lightly, glancing over toward the safe the mask was currently in.

There was a quiet crash from the other line,  _ “I’ll get back to you on that.”  _ The beeping signaled the exorcist had abruptly hung up.

Letting out another sigh at the sound before dropping his hand down from his ear, he lightly shook his head at the other man’s words. It wasn’t too hard to answer a question, though he supposed he did the same exact thing to other people when they had asked  _ him  _ anything.

He decided to stay put until someone just so happened to bring the demonologist into the room, knowing full well that he would only walk into chaos if he went out there whereas he could get something productive done in  _ here.  _ Walking over toward the metal table he left in the corner of the room, he began to tinker on his usual cold gun to see if he could make any improvements on it while he waited.

There was a knock on the door before Mick came into the room, the man he just so happened to be waiting for following close behind him even though his best friend’s eyes never strayed from the man, eyes almost in awe as he smacked Leonard on the shoulder, “Hey,  _ Snart,  _ he’s  _ here.” _

“Yes, I could see that, Mick,” he sighed out, placing his screwdriver down on the table.

“He made fucking fire with his fucking  _ hands, Len’-”  _ the taller somewhat whispered, moving to stand closer to his friend while his eyes continued to stare at the blond.

_ “Yes,  _ I  _ know,  _ Mick. I think you should get  _ going,”  _ he stated pointedly, giving the other a stare to see if the arsonist would pick up the hint before he pulled him out of the room himself. Constantine merely shook his head at the commotion, examining the scratched-up wall with narrowed eyes.

“I apologize for him, he enjoys fire a little  _ too  _ much,” the villain explained shortly, folding his arms behind his back as he walked over to the wall as well.

“Never had a  _ fan _ before,” the blond commented with a shrug before leaning forward to lick one of the carvings in the wall.

“The  _ fuck?” _

Constantine raised his eyebrows at the villain, “Problem?”

“Do I have to  _ stop  _ you from licking my shit, or is this a  _ normal occurance  _ for you?” Leonard asked snarkily, staring at the wall with an unknown feeling.

“Part of the  _ process,  _ mate. Helps me determine the magical output used to create the mark,” the exorcist explained tracing over the other marks with his hand.

“And you  _ have  _ to do it by  _ licking it?” _

The blond glanced over to the other, giving a quick wink before focusing back on the hieroglyphs, “I’m better with my tongue, love.”

He raised an eyebrow at the comment before glancing back toward the wall,  _ “Clearly.”  _ The thief paused for a few moments, taking the other’s silence as a cue to ask another question, “What does it say?”

Constantine hummed, taking a step back to skim his eyes over the different symbols, “It’s less of a threat than a promise…  _ Uraeus, ankh, ouroboros…” _ Sighing, the magic-user pieced the markings together more clearly, “It’s referencing the rebirth, or more likely newfound power, of Ammit once she has the mask.”

“So it’s nothing that we didn’t already know?”

“More or less,” the blond agreed. “But if the echoes felt the need to leave the message, there must be a reason.”

“And what do you think that reason would be?” he asked, turning away to put his tools away from the table.

A noncommittal shrug, “They might not like the taste of my magic.”

“Or,  _ here’s  _ a thought,” the thief began, giving him a pointed look, “they don’t appreciate you licking all of their  _ shit.” _

Constantine rolled his eyes, “Licking it and bleeding on it would have had the same magical effect, but I’m not opening my veins right now. Might need them for the ritual.”

“Both would have been strange on two separate levels, but I suppose you did choose the  _ cleaner  _ option,” he sighed out.

“Sorry  _ magic _ is so unattractive to you,  _ mate,” _ the blond replied sarcastically.

He smirked somewhat, glancing over his shoulder toward the demonologist, “I never said it was  _ unattractive,  _ though there is better shit a tongue can  _ do.” _

The exorcist gave him a once-over, “I’ll show you what I know  _ later.  _ Right now, I should cleanse the room of negative spiritual energy.”

“I’m sure there’s a  _ thing _ or two I can teach you,” he commented lowly, leaning back onto the table as he faced the blond. “Do I need to leave the room for that?”

“Not unless  _ Latin _ makes you uncomfortable,” Constantine answered with a smirk.

“There’s not much that could do  _ that,”  _ Leonard said after a few beats, making a move to stand beside the other so that he could watch this more up close.

The magic-user paid the villain little attention, beginning a practiced Latin incantation, holding his hand just shy of touching the wall. The phrases flowed easily, his hand taking on a soft blue glow before the spell finished, the room rising a few degrees in temperature.

“I’m going to assume that it is fixed now?” the villain asked slowly, tugging down his slowly riding up sleeves.

“For now, at least. Restless spirits act up enough to be a pain in the arse, but they’re easy enough to deal with.”

“What should I do the next time something like this happens again, then?”

The blond pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, lighting it just as quickly, “Call an exorcist.”

“I suppose if that gets you back in here, it would be worth the  _ trouble,”  _ he replied cryptically, already turning his body toward the door.

Constantine narrowed his eyes at the other, “And what do you want  _ me _ for?”

“Find out  _ next time,  _ kid. Don’t you have a job to get back to?” Leonard reminded with another smirk of his own, twisting the doorknob to at least help let the other out.

“Unless you manage to piss the spirits off again, that ‘next time’ will be for the  _ ritual,”  _ Constantine stated, giving the villain a glance, “Can you last that long without pissing  _ someone _ off?”

A small shrug, “I’ll figure out how to get my fix  _ somehow.  _ Pissing people off is too much of a reflex now.”

“Well, fingers crossed, mate,” the exorcist commented, leaving with a trail of smoke behind him.

Watching the other male leave as Mick quickly ran after him, Leonard rolled his eyes at the sight before closing the safe-room door. He wasn’t  _ quite  _ sure how he, or anyone else, could have pissed off those ‘spirits’ in the first place, but he was rather determined on keeping them calm for the time being.

Though, he supposed that seeing the blond again wouldn’t be the  _ worst  _ thing in the world.

* * *

Constantine rolled up his customary white sleeves, taking inventory of the empty spaces between marks.  Rituals often required some form of blood-based incantation, especially when deities -of any religion- were involved. As neither a good nor terribly evil person, he tried to stay as far away from celestial drama of any form, but had naturally found it enough times anyway. When drawing blood for ceremonial use, he found it most important to find the right location first. Hands were an easy option, but left a worse sting behind, too many nerves trying to tell him to stop. But the wrists rarely had enough free space for any spell, let alone one against a goddess of divine retribution.

The exorcist sighed, absent-mindedly tracing his fingers along the raised lines, glancing at the worn spell-book on the sheets beside him. Warding, sigils, incantations. Easy enough in theory, as long as the conditions were right. But theory had failed him too many times for him to take much stock in it. Back to memorisation, then.

The silence was shattered by an irritatingly loud ringtone, the blond rising with a quiet curse at the interruption.

“What now?”

There was a long sigh on the other line, the eye roll almost  _ felt  _ through the phone, answering the question anyway,  _ “She called me.” _

Constantine took a moment to process, “As in… the  _ goddess?” _

_ “Yep,”  _ Len replied, popping the ‘p’ sound,  _ “she said she’s going to stop by and pick up the mask later today.” _

The magic-user ran a hand through his hair, grabbing a hidden cigarette with the gesture, holding it in his mouth without lighting it, “Bloody fantastic. How much time do we have?”

_ “An hour or two max. What do you figure we do about this?” _

He sighed, running through the practiced words in his head briefly, “I can put up some wards, buy a little time for the ritual. Would have liked  _ more _ time, but it should work fine.”

_ “I would have tried to postpone it by a few more hours for you, but that would be much more suspicious; I figured it would be better to let her feel at ease rather than let her think there is something off about our deal.” _

“Good call, mate. I’ll be over soon as I can.”

_ “Don’t break any  _ laws,” were the other’s final words, the phone call audibly ending.

Constantine rolled his eyes, knowing full-well he was going to break at least a  _ few,  _ slipping his phone into his trouser pocket and shoving his cigarette back behind his ear. Snatching up his signature jacket and a bottle of questionable liquid, he focused. It was a cheap trick and certainly a waste of magic, but teleporting half-way left him enough to spare. The walk wasn’t far, only a short amount of time passing before the exorcist found the familiar location.

The door opened after he knocked, the usual thief staring incredulously at him from the other side before the corners of his mouth quirked upward,  _ “Eager,  _ much?”

“Didn’t feel like walking,” Constantine answered off-handedly, pushing the strange bottle to the villain, “Hold this.”

“You’re here not even for  _ thirty seconds,  _ and you’re already making me your  _ slave?”  _ Len asked rhetorically, taking the bottle anyway without question as he opened the door wider for the other to come inside. 

The magic-user entered the building, dropping his coat and waiting for the other to shut the door behind them, “I should draw a ward on each of the exits to be safe.”

The villain inspected the bottle closely, “With the blood of a stranger, I’m guessing?”

“If you consider sheep strangers. Just hold it for me?” the blond asked, pushing up his white sleeves further.

A loud sigh, Len taking the cap off of the bottle anyway,  _ “Fine,  _ just this once.”

Constantine gave a smirk before unceremoniously shoving his hand into the bottle of blood, earning a few stains to his sleeve regardless of preparation as he began spreading the liquid to form a symbol on the back of the door. Once completed, the blond turned back to the thief, “Where to next?”

The other let out a soft hum, leading him down a grey hallway, “Do you need the secret exits too, or just the main ones?”

“Main ones will make a decent barrier, but I don’t know how much time I’ll need,” Constantine answered with a shrug.

The thief made an audible tongue click, making sure his hands were steady as he carried the bottle, “Let’s just say that I don’t think we’d make it to even an  _ eighth  _ of the secret doors we have in this place.”

He raised an eyebrow, but focused on the more important issue, “Main ones it is, then.”

“Then that makes it  _ four,”  _ the villain informed, picking up his pace so that the blond could have extra time to do what he needed later.

Constantine kept up easily, glancing at the drops of blood he left behind, “Simple enough.”

“What is the plan after we get the wards up, then? I believe that’s important for me to  _ know.” _

The blond used his bloodied hand to count down on his fingers, “Set up and perform the ritual, make sure your restless echoes are put to bed, and deal with Ammit. If she gets miffed, I’ll draw a sigil.”

The thief stopped at a door, holding out the bottle as if to say that this was an exit, “And if  _ that  _ fails?”

Constantine repeated the process, marking the new door, “Sigils don’t fail. Specially designed for magic-users to use against gods- in this case  _ goddess.” _

“Why not use the sigil right away, then?” he asked, making his way down where they just came before taking a left.

The exorcist sighed, “A sigil would send Ammit back to Duat, but once Osirus is done  _ reaming _ her, she’d come back for my head. Rather avoid it if I can.”

Len continued down the hallway, glancing back toward the blond for a split second, “Remember that you will still have me in there, too. I’m not  _ that  _ useless, and my team is more than capable of helping as well.”

“Getting involved with fighting gods never ends well for the parties involved, mate.”

The leader gave him a dry stare, “Does it  _ look like  _ I care about that sort of shit? I’ve fought enough shit; I don’t  _ care  _ if it’s a god or not.”

“You’ll be putting yourself at risk for no reason,” the blond argued, gesturing to himself. “That’s why  _ I _ do these things.”

_ “You  _ put yourself at risk for no reason when you showed up at my other safehouse to take the mask back, so I don’t think I should be getting a lecture from you.”

“I’ll give you a bloody lecture anyway,” Constantine huffed, “since you have no idea what you’re signing up for.”

“That’s the fun in it,” Len defended, stopping at another door as he held the bottle out once more, “Life’s  _ boring.  _ Might as well try out something new.”

“Death isn’t a bloody  _ party _ either - I would know,” the exorcist commented flatly, etching the same symbol on that exit as well.

“Yet both have their pros and cons,” the thief made his way back down the hall, readjusting his grip on the bottle, “I don’t think we should be spending our precious  _ time  _ debating whether or not I’ll be there to help when we already know the  _ answer.” _

Constantine rubbed the bridge of his nose with his clean hand, “We can argue once the wards are in working order.”

_ “Fine,  _ the last door is right up ahead, then,” the villain stated with a sigh, eyes already spotting the door.

The blond wasted no time, coating his hand in blood before drawing the familiar warding symbol. Once the marking had been traced and he pulled his hand back, he muttered an activation spell beneath his breath, the wards connecting with a pulse of magical wind that rushed through the corridor before settling back down.

“Now, how do we set up for the ritual, then?”

“Probably best to set it up near the wall from earlier,” Constantine started, “Works best where my own spells will give it a boost.”

Len took a few steps forward from the spot they were in before taking out his keys to unlock the door, punching a quick code onto the keypad and opening the door, “It’s in here, then.”

The blond nodded, slipping into the room easily, holding out a hand to the other, “I’ll take the blood back from you now, mate.”

The villain handed the blood over to him without question, “Do I need to do anything?”

Constantine tilted his head back and forth, debating, “I’ll need the mask in a bit, but not now.”

There was a soft sigh, Len folding his arms behind his back, “Then I suppose I just get to watch you  _ work?” _

“If you fancy it,” the blond answered with a shrug, slowly tilting the bottle until the blood began to trickle out, walking until a splattered circle had formed on the floor. Setting the bottle down near the wall, the magic-user smoothed out the circle with a blood-covered hand, dipping it back into the liquid before beginning to form intricate markings on the inside of the shape. 

Calling upon higher powers than the one after you was a plan he had used before, to great misfortune. But the idea still held weight, enough to have the blond trying again. Demons and deities were far removed, as it was, so the outcome was more likely to be positive. Forming the symbol was simple enough, having already studied the particular details in advance. Working straight from a book was never an option, as whatever monster you were hunting would happily toss it away or tear it to shreds, but memorising wasn’t terribly difficult. He traced his hand back over the drying lines, feeling his magic instinctively reaching out to power the symbol.

The thief looked between him and the floor strangely, “What are you doing  _ now?” _

“Charging it, you could say,” the blond answered easily, standing back up once he had finished.

“So I’m guessing  _ ‘charging it’  _ and getting strangely  _ intimate  _ with it are the same  _ thing?” _

Constantine smirked, “Wouldn’t  _ you _ like to know?”

The other shrugged lightly, his face completely calm, “I  _ would  _ because it’s always good to know how long you have to  _ charge  _ to be  _ ready.” _

The blond raised an eyebrow, “Ready for what?”

“That’s for  _ me  _ to know and for you to find out,” Len commented cryptically, walking around the symbols on the ground, “Now, what is supposed to happen when you activate it?”

“Nothing for  _ you _ to see, mate. Might put the lights out, though,” the exorcist remarked, glancing at the lights briefly.

“What do you mean?”

A shrug, “Summonings tend to mess with electricity.”

“I meant with the  _ first  _ part of what you fucking said, I know what you mean by  _ lights going out.” _

“Won’t look like much to you, but it’ll be a bit of a light-show for me,” the blond explained casually, ignoring the harshness of the villain’s tone.

A small hum, the other crouching down to look further at a certain symbol, “Can you give me a run down on what will be happening, then? Your  _ plan?” _

Constantine surveyed the drawings, making sure they matched the original perfectly, “That mask you stole contains power from Anubis. Since Ammit wants to take that power, I’m just opening up a little… celestial telephone line, if you will.”

“And who is that call  _ directed at?” _

The blond grinned, as he always did before an exclamation better suited to a madman than an exorcist, “Anubis, of course.”

Len glanced down at the symbols upon the ground once again before nodding slowly, mouth in a straight line, “That seems fine, then. What’s  _ another  _ god in this room, anyway?”

The demonologist shrugged, “The one to take the wandering souls back to Duat, if this works according to plan. If not, that will take a little more work on  _ my _ part.”

“What’s the  _ back-up plan?” _

“The echoes will only take a few incantations, I’d have to brush up on my ancient Egyptian… Anubis won’t be a problem, though,” Constantine replied, rubbing the wrist of his bloody hand across his forehead for a moment.

There was a huff, “Why won’t they be a problem?”

“Met him a few times. Nice enough bloke. Might even thank me for calling.”

_ “Thank  _ you for calling?” Len repeated, hoping that the other would pick up the hint to answer that as well.

Constantine nodded, “Exactly what I said. That way, Anubis can deal with Ammit himself.”

“So we will simply sit back and  _ watch?” _

“Again, not much to see,” the blond replied, “Deities don’t like to be seen much.”

“I meant it in a way where we don’t have to  _ do shit,  _ but  _ go off,  _ I guess,” the thief sighed out, checking the time on his watch in case it was getting close to the time she said she would be there by.

Constantine rolled his eyes, continuing his work, “I need the mask, now.”

Len nodded, making his way toward the safe while doing  _ many  _ steps before making it finally open, trailing over toward the other while carrying it securely, “You could have said  _ please.” _

“Could’ve,” the blond agreed, pausing to flash a challenging smirk, “But never will.”

“You  _ will,  _ I can promise you that,” the villain commented cryptically, not quite handing over the mask yet.

Constantine crossed his arms, disregarding the blood. He looked between the item and the thief, the ploy dawning on him, “No.”

Len shrugged, simply walking over to the safe as he started to place the item back inside it, “If you say so, _John,”_ he drawled at the name lowly, “Can’t control _you.”_

“Nobody can, love, don’t take it personally.”

A hum, the super-villain starting to close the safe door as he glanced back at his watch once more,  _ “Oh,  _ I  _ don’t. I’m  _ not the one who needs the mask when Ammit arrives in approximately two minutes and thirty-seven  _ seconds.” _

Constantine leaned back against the wall, unconcerned, “I’m not the one that needs the  _ ritual,  _ mate. I haven’t done anything wrong by the gods, lately.”

The thief closed the safe fully, moving to sit down beside the symbols, “I never said I  _ wanted  _ one, you just showed up all on your  _ own.” _

“The echoes get pissy when I don’t fix things, not my fault.”

_ “No,”  _ the other stated simply, laying his hands down on his lap, “I think you rather  _ like  _ to fix things on your own terms, sometimes. These ‘echoes’ wouldn’t have followed you if you had left  _ town.” _

Constantine was quiet for a moment, glancing down at the intricate markings on the ground, “No, I really don’t.”

“Then why do it?”

The exorcist leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, “I have to, nobody else can.”

“You don’t  _ have  _ to do  _ anything,  _ technically.”

Constantine gave a bitter laugh, “Aren’t  _ you  _ a comedian.”

“I don’t  _ joke,”  _ Len shot back coldly, loitering beside the safe in the wall.

“Just give me the  _ bloody _ mask so I can be on my merry way,” the blond huffed, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear.

_ “Fifteen,”  _ the villain reminded without checking the time, not bothering to say anything else.

“Really not my problem, mate. Don’t need to tell me the countdown.”

“Fine by  _ me,”  _ the thief replied drily as per usual, pulling out a pair of goggles from one of his jean pockets, face completely blank as he said the seconds again anyway,  _ “Five.” _

Constantine knocked his head against the wall, the sting spurring on the words, “Give me the damn mask.  _ Please.” _

Pulling the safe open slowly as if he had all the time in the world, Len grabbed the mask before handing it over to the exorcist, “I  _ told you  _ that you  _ would.” _

The blond snatched the object from his hand, grumbling, “Wanker.”

An almost too-quick wink,  _ “Yeah,  _ I know.”

Hastily placing it within the confines of the painted symbol, Constantine began reciting the practiced words, standing just outside the outer circle with his hands held out in front. The unlit cigarette had been discarded to the floor in favour of the time constraint, the exorcist focused solely on the task at hand. He shut his eyes before the final verse, feeling the rising wave of magic as the lines flowed, eyes opening to see the headache-inducing colours of an answered celestial call. Ancient magical beings always tended to give him grief, whether that be physical discomfort or verbal annoyance. The lights of the room flickered as the shadowed, hazy figure picked up the mask from within the circle, the silhouette of a snout pointed in the blond’s direction. He lowered his hands, the stream of magic trickling to a steady drip, enough to sense the fading power of the wards placed around the building. Perfect timing, Constantine might compliment if he was one for self-praise. As if were, he simply waited, leaning back against the scratched wall as the god before him sensed the goddess’ presence as well.

‘Light-show’ wasn’t quite an accurate description, the blond going so far as to shade his eyes as one would against a particularly sunny day. The echoes gave him headaches, but the gods were out to blind him entirely, it seemed. The whole ordeal was anticlimactic, the scolding happening within the span of a single minute, but satisfying nonetheless. In the absence of the two deities, Constantine hunched his shoulders, searching the room with a tendril of magic.

Standard couple of echoes, but nothing Egyptian. Or screaming. The latter was the main priority, in all honesty.

Len waited a few moments in silence, taking the blond’s relaxed nature as a sign that all was well, still asking anyway, “I’m guessing the  _ show  _ is  _ over?” _

Constantine nodded, standing up straight, “Your little problem’s taken care of, mate.”

“Seems that way,” the other’s eyes darted toward him, a hidden look in it, “Does that mean you’re skipping town, then?”

“Overstayed my welcome as it is,” the blond answered, taking a step toward the door.

“You were only here for three days, though. I wouldn’t say they means you overstayed your  _ welcome.” _

The exorcist shrugged, “In my profession, one’s more than enough.”

“If you say so,” the thief stated after a few beats, pulling out a wallet from his pockets and opening it.

Constantine caught the gesture, raising an eyebrow, “What are you doing now, mate?”

Len showed him one of his many cards, putting it into his hand before walking away toward the door, “I don’t like being in debt, so take the money on my card and go. Should be enough to last a  _ long  _ time.”

The blond shook his head, holding the card out, “It’s on the house, no need to repay me. Think of it as the  _ kindness of my heart _ if you like.”

“I don’t  _ do  _ charity, kid,” the villain said, opening the door up for them to exit.

Constantine sighed, pocketing the card and exiting through the opened door, “Guess I can't really argue with that.”

A soft hum, “Glad we could see eye-to-eye, then,” the thief said, going toward the closest exit door in the building as he reached into his pocket to grab something else.

The blond scooped his jacket from the floor, waiting for the villain to open the door, “That all?”

The other male handed him another card, soon explaining as he opened the door, “Here’s  _ my  _ card in case you need any of my services, though I doubt you ever would.”

“And what service is  _ that,  _ love?”

A small shrug, “Anything you’d  _ want  _ me for.”

The exorcist winked, “I can think of a few things.”

“I’m sure you  _ could,”  _ Len smirked, leaning against the side of the door as he tilted his head toward the outside, “Now run  _ along,  _ kid. You know where to contact me if you want me.”

The blond stepped outside, giving a small wave, “Same to you.” The thief raised a still hand in his own form of a wave, watching him leave for a few moments before closing the door. ****


End file.
